


Types

by RoseCathy



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseCathy/pseuds/RoseCathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer isn’t Lister’s type. Does it matter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Types

Lister relishes these quiet moments. Silence fills the artificial air of their room; Rimmer’s steady breathing fills his ear. His finger moves in time with his heartbeat — tap, tap, tap, it goes against a collarbone, while his thumb slips back and forth under light-blue fabric to stroke warm skin.

Any minute now, Rimmer will mumble at Lister to stop tickling him, and a new day will begin, nice and slow. He’s learned to give in to his natural laziness; for this Lister takes full credit.

  


_“Absolutely amazing, eh? Reggie Wilson, telegraph poles…it’s uncanny how much we’ve got in common.”_

Lister scrunched up his face at the memory. What an awful, boring relationship Rimmer dreamt of — hours of screechy Hammond organs and ancient communication devices, then probably Risk to fill the rest of the day.

Only Rimmer would want to go out with someone exactly like himself, he thought, quite hypocritically forgetting his own leather-clad Camille.

  


“Are you happy, Rimmer?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“An important one,” Lister says earnestly.

The sceptical frown doesn’t leave Rimmer’s face. “Is this the time?” He shifts to emphasise his point. Lister gasps, then chuckles at the slick meeting of flesh. Maybe Rimmer’s right.

Later, when their legs are tangled in damp sheets and his face is buried in fanned-out curls, he gets an answer: “I’m happy.”

He already knew from the shaky hum preceding the statement, but it’s nice to have confirmation.

  


Rimmer wished he was corporeal again so that he could produce tangible vomit.

 _Anyone_ would vomit, having to watch the glowing looks that Lister threw at Ace. Perfect Ace with his swagger and his acceptance of smeggy music and his smoking. The perfect companion for Lister.

He, on the other hand, was _him_ , with hobbies that no one else liked and an inability to tolerate Lister’s habits, or an inability to be tolerated by Lister. But that was his lot in life, wasn’t it? The odd one out, the last picked for the team. For all he cared, they could go and…and…

“Go on, he’s probably picked a ring.”

  


Lister shakes his head. “It’s still naff, man.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Rimmer replies stiffly as he puts a decidedly non-stiff arm around Lister’s supine form. His _warm_ supine form, which feels like bliss despite its owner’s lack of appreciation for the Hammond organ.

“It’ll be your turn next time, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” He’ll have to distract Lister before he can actually hit Play on the Rastabilly Skank. For now, he lets himself be distracted by Lister’s heart, which beats with unselfconscious aliveness, and the lopsided grin which Lister presses into his cheek as a kiss.

  


_“Him and me, it would never work. I just can’t stand to be near the man.”_

His being a “maggot” had at least been good for one purpose: Getting rid of Commander Smug Git. Or so he’d believed until the golden-haloed face appeared on the communication screen.

So Lister wanted him to be (an) Ace. It was probably what he’d wanted all along — for Rimmer to be more heroic, more fun-loving, a more compatible shipmate. Oh, there had been the moment of courage during the battle with their future selves, but that hardly counted. No doubt Ace would have saved the day before everyone else had died.

  


The landing brings back memories. Standing here with the new Ace, encouraging him to accept his destiny. _Telling him to fly away, never to return._ “You okay?” 

Lister hugs Rimmer tighter and rubs his face into a blue-clad shoulder; Rimmer melts obligingly into his arms. Now he is.

  


Ace had expected the frosty reception. Even with a few more years of space travel under his belt than he’d had himself at the first Ace encounter, the common or garden Arnold Judas Rimmer was a jealous creature.

What he had not expected was the two of them huddled together in the cockpit, or this dimension’s Lister reaching into the unheroic curls to ruffle them, then whispering, “…not exactly my type, you know.”

“And I am?” the other Rimmer sniffed.

“Yeah, actually.” Ace turned away from the loud, smacking kisses with a groan. “Rather have you.”

“Really.”

“ _Really!_ I promise!” Lister laughed. “Jealous git…mmm.”

Ace learned a few hours later that this dimension’s Starbug was too small. More specifically, his quarters were too close to his other self’s; he had to listen, frozen with unhappiness, to this dimension’s Lister fulfilling his earlier promise.

For the first time in years, he asked himself if L - if anyone could ever care for him enough to offer him such a thorough reassurance.

_“I don’t understand your attitude, Rimmer. He’s you!”_ He reached the same conclusion as before: No. Because he was, in all likelihood, the worst Arnold Rimmer in all extant universes.

Just when he thought it was over, after he’d already let out a sigh of relief at the cessation of noises, a gentle “Love you” in his own voice floated through the thin walls like a final insult.

  


Lister likes to brush the scar with his thumb or lips whenever he gets the chance. Occasionally, in the heat of the moment, he’s given it a good lick (and on one memorable night, a bite).

He knows it was won in a silly childhood tussle, but that has never dampened his fascination.

  


This was not how the dream went. In the dream, Rimmer smiled and joked. He took the wig off. He was happy to be back, happy to see Lister. He didn’t stop chatting after a cursory greeting and silently offer Lister a cheroot from his cigar case.

Lister frowned up at him. “You don’t smoke.”

Rimmer blinked. “Of course I smoke,” he countered smoothly. Not quite the full Ace, but not his real voice either.

“Look, Rimmer, you don’t need to pretend…” Lister hesitated. He wouldn’t feel so wrong-footed if only Rimmer would get rid of that stupid wig.

“I’m not pretending.” Ace put away the proffered cigar. “People change, Davey-Boy.”

The nickname felt like a knuckle on the chin. What had this stranger done with Rimmer, _his_ Rimmer? Where was the badinage, the acknowledgement that they’d missed each other?

“It’s…good to see you, man,” he began uncertainly.

Ace nodded neutrally. “Feeling’s mutual, Skipper. Thought I’d pop in for a few days, see how the old crew were doing.”

“Wh - a few days?”

“Well, you know. Worlds to save, evil to defeat…got to do my bit for the universe.”

He had obviously mastered elegant self-deprecation, which was disturbing by itself, but there was a more urgent issue. “I thought you were back. For good.”

“Sweet of you, Dave. But no, not too much rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.” Finally, for the first time since Ace had stepped inside the cockpit, Lister saw a crack in the façade and heard a wobble in the voice. He had to seize the moment, before - before -

“Don’t go.”

Ace raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t go. Don’t…” Lister searched the hazel eyes desperately, trying to find any clue as to what would make him stay. “You don’t _really_ like all that space hero stuff. I mean, you never did, you were never that type, and I - you don’t have to go again. If you want, I can tell Cat and Kryten how we - what?”

Ace had turned his face away, curtaining it off with the wig. “For my own good, is it?”

“I don’t…”

“Listy,” Rimmer said in his real voice then, and Lister’s heartbeat tripped painfully. “I’ll be all right. I’ve learned a few things, even if I’m not ‘that type’.”

“I didn’t mean - ”

“You know,” Rimmer interrupted, “I met another Starbug crew. They were a lot like us. But they’d never heard of Ace.”

“Yeah?”

“Their Rimmer was - well, as I said, they were a lot like us. His Lister, though…” Rimmer finally faced Lister again, and his eyes were sad, accusing. “Didn’t try to talk him round.”

“I…”

“They adored each other.”

Lister looked helplessly at Rimmer’s trembling hands as he ploughed on, “Meanwhile, here you are, asking me to stay out of pity or some sort of moral obligation to make up for sending me away. I don’t want either of those things, Lister. I was just visiting, not looking for…” He stood as if to leave. “I should go now.”

“Don’t go,” Lister croaked.

“I think it’s best if I do.”

Lister bounded to Rimmer and clasped his hands before he could turn away. All he knew was that if he didn’t get a few things clear now, he was going to lose - what was he going to lose?

Whatever it was, he couldn’t let it happen. “I’m asking you to stay for me, not because of what you said, because I’ve missed you so much, because I’m selfish,” he babbled, letting the words spill from his mouth as they would. “Because the universe can fend for itself for all I care. I need you to come back to me. Stay with me.”

Rimmer’s eyes followed the path of a tear down Lister’s face. Emboldened by the movement and still shaking with adrenaline, Lister pulled him close and crushed their lips together. He hoped it would be enough to convince Rimmer.

  


Lister slides out from under the washing machine and grins up at Rimmer. “Enjoying the view?”

“I think that’s more what you were doing,” Rimmer retorts from his seat on the floor next to Lister. “Everything tickety-boo?”

The spanner drops from Lister’s hand with a clatter. “Let’s just say I have earned one hell of a break. What’s for dinner?” But this is not that kind of break, as he knows. His hands are already ungloved and twisted in Rimmer’s hair, and in no time at all they are rolling on the hard floor, clothes open and chests heaving.

Much to Kryten’s distaste, he finds them later in a sleepy, half-naked heap, giggling at what sounds like nonsense. He could never have predicted this turn of events.


End file.
